PUNISHER OF INTEREST
by BLAKKSTONE
Summary: John Reese and Harold Finch are not the only ones working in the shadows to fight crime. Their next "assignment" puts them on the path of a well enough known "colleague"...
1. Chapter 1

_I'm Harold Finch._

_You are being watched. The government has a secret system: a machine that spies on you every hour of every day. I know because I built it. I designed the machine to detect acts of terror, but it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people, people like you. Crimes the government considered irrelevant. They wouldn't act, so I decided I would. But I needed a partner, someone with the skills to intervene. Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret. You'll never find us, but victim or perpetrator; if your number's up... we'll find you._

**McKinley's Billiards**

**Hell's Kitchen, NYC**

**Night time**

John Reese's head rocked from the incoming punch. It was too fast to dodge, so he lowered his head. The other man's fist connected with his forehead. It hurt, but the other guy hurt more as he broke some of the bones is his hand. Reese then hit him in the throat with the side of his hand.

He wasted no time gloating. Four more were coming at him. On all sides.

Reese sent his heel into one his assailant's knee joints. That one went down. Reese didn't stop. He spun on himself and hit another one in the chest with a spinning heel kick. Still spinning, he sent a hammer fist into a third man's temple. The fourth man tried a roundhouse punch. Reese deflected it and sent a reverse elbow strike. Reese put all of his strength and weight into it. The tip of his elbow shattered his adversary's collar bone. Reese was rewarded with a scream before the man passed out from the pain.

Another man rushed Reese. A big man, almost seven inches taller than Reese, about 6'8" tall. Large. Strong. He put his arms around Reese's rib cage. Reese wasted no time panicking or trying to break the hold. He spread his arms and his open hands struck the big bruiser on his ears. Once. Twice. Third time was the charm. The brawler was dazed. His eardrums were damaged. Reese grabbed a chair by the legs and swung at the big man's head in an uppercut move. The hard wood caught the guy under the chin, snapped his head back and he fell heavily to the ground. Reese then let go of the chair.

John Reese was the last man standing in the bar. There were several men on the floor. Some were unconscious. Some were stirring in pain from dislocated joints and broken bones. Some were holding their groins and rolling around. Eight men in all.

He straightened his clothes. No tears. No wrinkles. No blood.

_Thank goodness for small favors, _Reese thought.

He knew that he looked non-descript enough: people would remember a White man, late 30s, early 40s. Dark hair, with some grey. Tall and slender. And wearing a suit.

"Now then," Reese said in a pleasant voice ,"I feel we got off on the wrong foot, fellas. I didn't want to start trouble, I just wanted some information. I'm willing to look past this little incident if one of you helps me out. How about it?"

"Screw you, you son of a bitch," one of the men with a dislocated shoulder said.

"That wasn't very nice," Reese said, walking over to that man, pulling out his 9mm SIG-Sauer P226R.

"Whoa, wait a minute," the man said.

"You know, one of your friends hit me in the head," Reese said, "I'm a little dizzy. A shot might go off. Hit you somewhere non lethal. But painful. Very. Painful."

"Hey, man, calm down. Easy. Easy, man."

Reese smiled and answered:

"I'm perfectly calm. Can't you tell? You're the one that seems nervous."

"What...what do you wanna know?"

Reese asked him. The man spoke for a while. Reese pushed harder. There was nothing more. He asked a couple of the other men. Nothing more came out of that.

"See?" Reese said, smiling again, "Wasn't that hard, was it? Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Reese stepped out of the bar and went into a black sedan. He didn't start the car. He had nowhere to go. No leads.

"Did you get that, Finch?" Reese said out loud, though no one was with him.

"Loud and clear, Mr. Reese," Finch answered.

Harold Finch. Mysterious billionaire. Computer genius. Unlikely partner. Creator of The Machine. Reese was in communication with Finch via a small ear piece connected to his highly secure cell phone. Finch was in their base of operations.

"This is the fourth scummy bar I've hit tonight," Reese said, "I'm getting a little tired of these dead ends."

"I understand your frustration, Mr. Reese, however, this number is quite unusual. We can't use our usual methods."

Reese knew Finch was right. Finch was usually right. The man _was_ a genius. Years ago, after 9/11, Finch, working with the government, created a machine. That machine could be hooked up to surveillance cameras, computer connections, cell phones. It would gather data and could come up with a pattern. That pattern could establish premeditation. It would then give out a number. A social security number. The person attached to that number was sure to be involved in a terrorist conspiracy. They could be a victim or a terrorist.

The machine also gave other numbers. People involved in street level murders. Gangsters. Jealous spouses. Greedy business partners. People that also were conspiring to get someone killed. Back then, the machine discarded those "irrelevant" numbers. Finch couldn't live with that. He left the government, found a way to access The Machine and that "irrelevant" list. He wanted to prevent those murders. But Finch was barely 5'8", small framed, near sighted and walked with a limp. Not exactly built for combat and surveillance.

But Finch found a homeless drunk. A lost man. A former soldier, an ex-CIA agent. A skilled, experienced, but lost man. John Reese. Finch offered him a job. A purpose. The tentative partnership grew into trust. Mutual respect. Friendship. And they dedicated their respective talents to stopping violent crime. One number at a time.

That gave birth to a growing urban legend: the Man In A Suit. Reese was that Man. That was all witnesses remembered or volunteered as information. A Man In A suit. Beating bad guys up. Or shooting them. Sometimes to kill, often in the kneecaps.

Usually, Finch and Reese found the person. Hacked their phone and home computer and quickly identified the threat. In this instance, the person behind the number had no electronic trail whatsoever. Not surprising: the person was a fugitive.

So, they had to do bit more legwork. Since the "number" spent most of their time with criminals, it was Reese's idea to knock on some doors. Doors with gangsters behind them.

"At least, the bits and pieces you seem to obtain are consistent," Finch said, "Someone called in some major...talent from out of town. A new organisation dealing in designer drugs. But again, you get almost nothing when mentioning the number's name."

"That new crew isn't reckless," Reese said, "They're not making some kind of takeover attempt."

"So it confirms our hypothesis, Mr. Reese."

"The heavy hitters could be hunting our number," Reese said, "Can't seem to find confirmation, though. Anything on your end?"

"I'm monitoring police communications," Finch said, "Also, being hooked in to the city's surveillance grid, if anything resembling our number's...typical activities transpires, we might be able to zero in on it."

"This guy makes a career out of not being found, Finch. And New York is a big city. Maybe it's time I started on focusing on that gang of drug dealers. Maybe that thread could..."

"Oh."

"Finch?"

"A camera caught something resembling a big firefight. Several black SUVs. Men in tactical gear. Not members of any law enforcement agency. And the camera went black."

"That has to be it. Send me the address, Finch."

"Mr. Reese, this could be something else completely, not connected to our number. No to mention that they are...quite a few of them. And only one of you."

"There's only one way to be sure this is connected to our number."

"This is suicide, Mr. Reese," Finch said.

"This is the job, Finch," Reese said, "And by the time the cops would make it..."

There was a pause. Reese knew Finch didn't want to send him into a meat grinder. But he had to.

"There's no other way," Reese said.

"I'm sending you the address now," Finch said.

"Thanks."

"Please, proceed with caution, John."

Reese smiled, "I always do."

He then looked at the address on his phone. He was only minutes away. He put the car in gear.


	2. Chapter 2

**A few minutes later**

As Reese was approaching the address, a four storey apartment building, he saw an explosion. A chunk of wall and a window was blown out. He thought he saw two bodies fly out with the debris. That was from the second floor.

"This is it, Finch," Reese said.

Reese heard nothing.

"Finch? Can you hear me?"

Reese looked at his phone: "No signal."

He was on his own.

He noticed six men stationed in front of the building's main entrance. With four parked black SUVs. A similar group was probably covering the back door.

They were taking their work seriously. But then, so did Reese.

It was an old tenement building. Probably abandoned. They were in a part of a neighborhood composed mostly of warehouses. Perfect place to have someone killed. He could hear automatic gunfire and screams. It was war.

Reese parked out of sight. He stepped out of his car and went to the trunk.

The trunk was filled with weapons, ammunition, body armor and different types of grenades.

Reese opened the trunk. He took off his suit coat.

Moments later, he was wearing a Level III ballistic vest. He was holding a KRISS Vector short barreled 30 round .45 ACP submachine gun in his right hand and a Milkor MGL 6 round 40 mm grenade launcher in his left hand. He had extra ammunition for all of his weapons. No time to plan or to be clever.

Reese had to storm an unknown number of adversaries to save a stranger. A stranger who just might blow his head off.

He closed in on the building. He had no cover. No dumpsters. Nothing. He came in, jogging, in a vacant lot, closing in on professional killers. He extended his left arm and fired a 40 mm High Explosive at one of the four parked SUVs. A cataclysmic explosion resounded, sending debris, fire and two screaming armed henchmen in the air. The flaming hunk of metal was giving some cover, thanks to the smoke from the burning fuel. Reese slung the Milkor on his back, holding the Kriss Vector with both hands, folded stock against his shoulder, and came in, crouching. He was closing in on the other operators.

He took a quick mental picture: body armor, ballistic vests and ballistic masks as well. HK MP-5 submachine guns. These guys didn't come cheap. He was only about thirty feet away when the recovered from their daze and saw him coming. They recovered quickly.

But not quickly enough.

Reese fired two long bursts. He emptied his mag. He didn't like burning ammo, but there was little time for finesse. The first burst sent high velocity .45 ACP rounds stitched at the four of them at chest level. That stunned them and knocked them back, but also shattered shoulders and elbows. The second ruined four pairs of kneecaps, breaking more flesh and bone. The men collapsed. Crippled. But alive.

There might have been a time when Reese would have gone specifically for the kill. He was no longer that guy. He was trying not to be that guy anymore, anyway.

Reese reloaded the Vector.

He heard vehicles closing in. Screeching tires. The back door detail.

He switched to the Milkor. He put his back to a wall next to the main door. Waited. He could smell the burning fuel from the exploded truck. He could hear more sounds of battle from inside the building.

The SUV zoomed by on his right. Reese fired a HE round. The projectile hit the left front wheel. The truck was lifted and it flipped over several times.

Reese switched back to the Vector and went inside the building. He saw the damaged elevator. He started climbing the stairs. He had to go in blind. No time to plan. No time for recon.

The fighting had stopped. No more gunfire. A reprieve? The more he went up the stairs, the more he saw bodies. Vests, masks, HK MP-5 submachine guns. He had to creep around them on the stairs. He cleared the first floor. Each apartment. There were more corpses in the hallways. Similarly armed and armored.

All in all, Reese counted seven bodies. The number knew how to handle himself. There was still silence. It was eerie after the chaos from earlier.

On the second floor, there were two more bodies. Reese cleared the apartments on the second floor. He then moved on. Another dead hit man on the stairs on the way to the third floor. Same gear as the others.

Noise on the third floor. More than one. Barely audible. Reese went up the stairs trying to match their steps so they couldn't hear him. If somehow they knew about their colleagues outside being taken down, they might expect him. He had to be more than careful. His breathing was controlled. He was calm. In the zone. In the moment.

When he reached the third floor, covered by a door way, he saw them. Three men, their backs to him. About 20 feet away. Very quiet and professional.

_Now what_, Reese thought_. Take them out and give away my position, or proceed to the next floor to keep trying to find the number, but risk them jumping me from behind along with whatever I run into upstairs?_

Reese took another glance at them.

Murphy's Law took the decision out of his hands as one of the hitters turned around at that exact moment and spotted him.

"Contact!" The masked man shouted. He was about to fire.

Reese jumped out of the doorway. The enemy got a burst out that took chunks out the doorway. Reese landed in a prone position and fired. Full auto. They crouched, trying to make smaller targets.

But Reese wasn't aiming for center of mass.

Some of his .45 ACP rounds found a pair of kneecaps. And an ankle. All of which belonged the man who'd spotted Reese. That man screamed and dropped to the ground.

One down. Reese went back to the doorway for cover as the other two returned fire.

No more element of surprise. It was down to skill and luck.

Reese put earplugs in his ears and switched to the Milkor. He fired a HE round at one of them. The 40 mm bomb bounced off a wall and landed on the floor harmlessly. There wasn't enough distance, so it didn't detonate.

The other guys didn't waste time mocking him and just returned fire. He again jumped out of the door frame and fired. Once. At his unexploded HE round.

The explosion was incredibly loud in the hallway. The shockwave sucked the air out. Debris from the walls, ceilings, doors and floor along with smoke and dust filled the air. Reese coughed, gagging from all that. He removed the ear plugs.

He heard a noise behind him and jumped aside, a burst of automatic fire barely missing him. But it hit the Kriss Vector and knocked it out of his hands. On the stairs leading to the fourth floor, he saw two members of the hit squad, MP-5 submachine guns aimed at him.

_Here it comes_, Reese thought, calm and at peace with his fate. He tried to do some good in the end. Hopefully, it had been enough. He had time to think of Finch and thanked him mentally.

The sound of automatic fire and its impacts on flesh interrupted his final thoughts.

But he was still alive. The hitters had just gotten...hit.

Then Reese knew. It was the number. A lone man came down the stairs, a smoking M-4 carbine fitted with a 40 mm grenade launcher aimed at him. The man Reese had come in to rescue. No mistake: a White man, 6'3, over 200 pounds, black hair, blue eyes, around 60 years old. Full combat gear, including body armor. And a large white skull painted on it. Reese could understand why even the most hardened criminals feared this man.

"Who are you?" The Punisher asked John Reese.

"I'm a friendly, Captain," Reese answered.

Reese hoped to reach out to the Punisher, hence why he was using his rank. Before becoming the vigilante known as the Punisher, Frank Castle had once been a Marine in Vietnam. Long ago. Before everyone and everything he cared about was taken from him one day, in Central Park. Reese went on:

"I'm not the enemy, Captain. I'm here for an extraction."

"You came to help me."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Reese couldn't stop the smile: "That's a long story. Short version: I had Intel revealing a threat on your life. And I didn't want you to die."

Castle's ice cold gaze meet Reese's. It was like Castle wanted to search in his eyes for deception. Betrayal. Reese couldn't read the Punisher's eyes.

"Let's get outta here," Castle said, "You first. Make a move I don't like, you die."

"Understood," Reese said.

Soon, they were outside. Castle saw the damaged trucks and the wounded henchmen.

"You did this?" Castle asked. Reese thought he heard something like respect in that graveyard voice.

"Yeah."

"Those guys," Castle said, pointing his chin at the men Reese had shot in the arms and kneecaps, "They're still alive."

"They're neutralized."

"You could have finished them. Easily."

"I didn't need to."

Castle said nothing for a second. He looked at Reese for another second. Then he put his weapon on safe. Reese saw something is Castle's eyes. It was almost like...recognition. He felt the bigger man relax, somewhat. As relaxed as the Punisher could get.

"You're that guy," Castle said, "The Man In A Suit."

"That's me. How did you know?"

"The M.O. Show up unexpected. Bad guys get wounded or beat up. Sometimes, killed. Then, you disappear."

"That's pretty much it."

Castle paused again. Looked him over and said:

"And there is the way you dress."

"There's that."

There was a pause. And then, Castle said:

"You're probably not gonna stop following me until this specific threat is dealt with."

"Right again," Reese said, with a smile.

"You work alone?"

"No. I have a friend who's good with computers. He handles the Intel. I use it."

"I'm gonna give an address. It's in Brooklyn. Meet me there. Don't follow me."

"Understood."

Castle gave him the address and left.

Reese went over to one of the downed assassins, removed the mask and took a picture with his phone. He did that with two more and went back to his car. He let out a small breath. That went about as smoothly as expected.

"Mr. Reese?" John heard in his ear.

"Finch," Reese said, relieved to hear his ally's voice.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Finch. Thanks. What happened with comms earlier?"

"Something was jamming the signal. Whoever our mystery assailants are, they probably used some sort of device to do so."

"That explains the absence of first responders. Plus it's pretty isolated here."

"And it's possible that our friends have had a deal with HR to keep police away."

HR was an organized group of corrupt members of the NYPD. High reaching. Powerful. A constant thorn in Reese and Finch's sides.

"I have managed to circumvent the jammed signal problem by...I won't bore your with that."

"Thanks."

"Did you find our number?"

"He found me. He knew who I was."

"That's not surprising, considering his reputation."

"Well deserved. He barely needed me. I'm supposed to meet him later at his safe house."

"You plan on going?"

"A guy like that doesn't give trust lightly. I'm going. I'm sending you pictures. Three members of the hit squad."

"It shouldn't be too long. I'll be able to identify them shortly."

"Also, call 911 and send them over here. Plenty of wounded that need medical attention."

"I'm on it."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm on it."

**Brooklyn**

**Punisher's safe house**

**Night time, still**

Reese found the place. Castle had set up shop in a garage. Practical location. Isolated. Plenty of room for his vehicles. A black van and a black sedan. And weapons. And crates.

Reese and the Punisher were both standing on opposite sides of a table. Castle was wearing a black T-shirt. He'd taken off his body armor and had taped up his ribs. He went to a small fridge. He pulled out two water bottles and two sandwiches. Reese accepted the food and drink. A moment later, Castle brought a folder.

"What do I call you?" Castle asked.

"John Reese."

"Delta? CIA?"

"Both."

Castle then said nothing. He took a bite of sandwich. A sip of water.

"What's your deal, Reese? Why are doing this?"

Reese hesitated for a second. He didn't think Castle was trying to bond. He wanted to know who he was dealing with. Might as well be honest.

"I lost someone. Then, I lost myself. I was a homeless man, trying to drink myself to death. My friend with the computer skills, he found me. Gave me a job. A mission. A purpose. We find people in trouble and help them."

Castle kept quiet. He kept eating his sandwich. His eyes were on Reese, not missing a thing. He knew Castle could relate to parts of his story. His wife, daughter and son had been killed decades ago in Central Park. The Castle family had been at the wrong place at the wrong time: mob business. Castle survived. Finch had given Reese some details during the drive. Castle had positively identified the shooters and they still walked. He became the Punisher shortly after. He eliminated the Mafiosos that killed his family and hasn't stopped since.

"Why didn't you kill those guys back at the building?" Castle asked.

"I didn't need to. I told you that already."

"Makes more tactical sense if they're dead. They can't recover from that. Can't surprise you."

"I've killed plenty of people in my time in the service, in the Agency. I kill when I have no other option, now. I try to focus on saving lives these days."

Castle said nothing. Drank some water.

"Hm," Castle said.

"What? Are you skeptical?"

"I believe you," Castle said, "Your rep speaks for itself. I needed to know for sure."

"And you're sure? A lotta cops think I'm a hit man."

"They don't look beyond the surface. I looked into the Man In A Suit."

"Really?"

"I thought maybe there was truth to that hit man theory. None. A string of grateful civilians and kneecapped scum. Some that were on my list."

"Sorry. I didn't want to steal your targets. Maybe there's some kind of vigilante etiquette I should know about?"

"Don't worry about it. I have a long list. Also, the Man In A Suit reminded me of someone."

"You mean the Equalizer?"

"You know him?"

"I know _of_ him. Robert McCall. Former Agency man. He was a legend when I was still in the business. I'd always run into an older spook that would tell me about the impossible stuff McCall pulled off during the Cold War. I heard about the 'business' he started after he retired. People would call him. He'd help them. Here, in New York. That made him even more legendary. They said he took down dirty cops, stalkers, gangsters, terrorists."

"All true. He also told me that stuff about not wanting to kill more than he had."

"You've met him."

"Worked with him. A long time ago. A good man."

Reese understood the look of recognition in Castle's eyes. It wasn't just the Man In A Suit. It was the Equalizer as well that The Punisher saw in Reese.

"Sometimes, mercy works, Frank. My friend showed me mercy. I'm alive thanks to that."

"Hm."

Castle slid the folder to Reese across the table. Back to business.

"You might change your mind about mercy for the enemy when you see that," Castle said.

Reese opened the file. Crime scene photos. Six dead. Blood everywhere. Another picture with a dead man on the sidewalk. Also very bloody. He probably jumped out of a window.

"A contact I have in the NYPD gave me that file," The Punisher said. "This was at a party. A bunch of college kids took something. They went berserk. Killed each other. One of them committed suicide."

"I heard of a new crew dealing designer drugs when I was looking for you earlier."

"Probably them. On the street, they call it Cortex. It's said to combine the effects of LSD, Ecstasy and Crystal Meth. It doesn't cause much physical damage. When used for too long, or when people wanna kick the habit, that's what happens. Hallucinations. Psychotic breakdowns."

Castle took another swig from his water bottle and went on:

"The pushers are smart. I was on the streets for weeks looking for these bastards. I found nothing. Then, at last, a lead. That building where we met. It was supposed to house one of the labs where they cook that stuff. It was an ambush. I was set up. The apartments were inhabited by those hired guns. I ran into a dozen of them. Those guys you neutralized outside weren't there when I entered the building."

"They were probably there as back up. They must've showed up after you. In case you made it and survived the first team. These guys are serious."

Reese pulled out his phone. He pulled up the files Finch had sent him during the drive to Castle's safe house. He slid the phone across to the Punisher.

"Your friend at work," Castle said.

"Yeah."

"Some of those guys were on Interpol's most wanted list. High end mercenaries. Assassins for hire. Former operators from all over the world. They belonged to a team that calls itself Black Daggers," Castle said.

"That group is used all over the globe. Wet work. Espionage. My friend is looking for a money trail. If we can follow that, we can find out who hired them," Reese said, looking at the pictures some more. Castle was right: John wasn't feeling very merciful towards whoever was making money off of this product.

"This Cortex, it's a party drug," Castle said, "It's not affordable. It's popular with rich people. That's why it won't show up in the news. Sons and daughters of CEOs and senators have overdosed on that crap. They tried to keep it quiet. My NYPD contact was told to keep his mouth shut about this. To avoid a scandal. All cops were told to destroy the drugs found on the scene. Even the files. He couldn't. He made a copy of what he could and reached out to me."

"It's probably expensive to produce, hence the price," Reese said, "It's not something that can be cooked up in a kitchen somewhere."

Reese's phone vibrated.

"Mr. Reese," he heard in his ear.

"Go ahead, Finch," Reese answered.

"I tracked down the money trail. I traced the most recent bank deposits made to some of members of the...Black Daggers you ran into at that building earlier. I went through several dummy corporations, so it cost me some...precious seconds. The trail stops at a Manhattan lawyer called Christopher Vines. 38. Criminal lawyer. Trust fund child. Both parents are dead. Only child. No wife. No children. Has memberships to a gym, a tennis club and a golf club. His credit card history reveals he spends a lot of money on high priced escorts. He has had several clients of ill repute in the past years. Many alleged crime figures among others. I sent you his address."

Reese looked at his phone and saw the information. There was his driving license picture. White man. Movie star good looks. Healthy. Rich. Some men just could have enough of everything. Reese slid his phone over to Castle.

"It seems you're getting along with Mr. Castle," Finch said.

"He hasn't shot me in the face yet, so it's promising," Reese said.

"Night's still young," Castle said.

"Was that a joke?" Finch asked, with some concern.

Reese looked at Castle's face.

"I can't tell," Reese said, "Thanks for the Intel, Finch. We're gonna have a talk with the counselor."

"I've accessed his laptop and his smart phone. He has several business clients in the morning, maybe you could pass for some potential-"

A large bag was set heavily on the table.

"We're going now," Castle said.

Reese looked at the bag and at Castle's face.

"News about the failure of their ambush is gonna spread, Reese," Castle said, "The more we wait, the more time we give them to be ready for us. Maybe even disappear."

"He's got a point, Finch," Reese said.

"He does indeed. Or maybe you enjoy working with someone who appreciates the direct approach as much as you do, Mr. Reese."

"Maybe there's some of that. But mostly, these men have to be stopped. This substance they're selling...They have to be stopped, Finch."

"I see. Well, while you and Mr. Castle have your chat with Mr. Vines, I'll look further into his history. Perhaps I can dig up further evidence of his involvement in this enterprise. Who needs sleep anyway?"

Reese looked at Castle. He was back in full Punisher mode. Fatigues. Body armor with painted death skull. Weapons. Ammunition.

"Let's go," Castle said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Manhattan**

**Huntington Towers**

"We're on site, Finch," Reese said.

Reese and Castle were in a van around the corner from the 40 story building where Vines lived. Reese put the phone on speaker so Castle could hear it.

"I accessed the building's video feed," Finch said, "It would seem that there are five men in the lobby. According to my facial recognition program...All of them are members of the Black Daggers. They are armed, of course. Also, the main entrance is...protected by an access code," Finch said.

"Daggers," Castle said, "Vines looks dirtier by the second."

"Can you break the access code?" Reese asked Finch.

"I can probably manage that, Mr. Reese," Finch said, "Are you sure there isn't a less direct approach? By less direct, I mean less suicidal. This is twice tonight you leap into the lion's den."

"We're short on time," Reese said, "We need to close this down as quickly as possible."

Both Castle and Reese went to the back of the van to get ready. Reese had changed suits-he had spare clothes in his car-and more body armor. He also attached sound suppressors to a matched pair of fully automatic Glock 18 machine pistols. Castle was doing the same with a pair of Mac-10 45 ACP submachine guns.

"How you wanna play this, Reese?" Castle asked.

Reese looked over at Castle. The Punisher would probably just walk in and gun the Black Daggers down. He thought Reese might want to do it a little differently. And he was willing to respect that.

Reese told him. Castle gave one nod.

"Finch..."Reese said.

"The surveillance cameras around your...target area are down," Finch said.

"Thanks. Let's go, Frank."

Reese deactivated the speakerphone mode. The two vigilantes stepped out of the van.

"The door will be unlocked when you reach it," Finch said.

Reese could hear the controlled concern and tension in his friend's voice. But Finch didn't object further. Castle looked like he always did. The phrase "stone faced" was coined for him.

They reached the door, guns in hands, safeties off, aimed towards the ground and pushed the doors.

The five Daggers froze when they saw The Man In A Suit and The Punisher, especially since the Punisher was supposed to be dead.

For an endless second, nobody moved. Nothing moved. The five mercenaries stood still.

"Don't," Reese said simply. He was looking in their eyes. He knew Castle was doing the same.

One second crawled by. Two.

Their eyes gave it away. They were going to make a move. They all went for their weapons.

Castle lifted his twin Macs. Each Mac was aimed at a different henchman. Each hard man took a half dozen .45 ACP rounds in the chest. No Kevlar. They went down. A third one, further on his left ducked, rolled, pulled his pistol out and took cover behind a marble pillar. No more shot.

Reese raised his Glocks. Like Castle he had pre-selected two targets and he aimed at them. He brought them down with a burst to each center of mass.

Castle nodded over to Reese. Reese nodded back and fired double taps at the marble pillar as The Punisher set his Macs down.

"You can still walk out of here," Reese told the man.

"I can't," the man answered, "I can't do that."

Castle had pulled out a sound suppressed .50 Magnum Desert Eagle loaded with armor piercing bullets. He fired once. The high powered slug punched through the pillar and through the hit man's chest.

Castle put the large handgun back in his thigh holster. Then, both men went over to the elevators. On their way up:

"You gave them a choice, Reese," Castle said.

"I know."

"More than what they would have given you."

"I know."

There was a short silence. Then:

"We're good on the procedure, Frank?" Reese asked.

"We talk to Vines, see what he knows and he lives unless he makes a move on us."

"That's not gonna be a problem is it?"

"Whatever dirt Finch finds will be sent to friends you have with the cops and Vines will go down."

"How do you know we have friends with the cops?"

"The idea of a one-man-war on crime is romantic. But it's impossible. I'm usually alone doing the dirty work, but for Intel, cops are hard to beat. So many of them are frustrated with the system, they're willing to bend the law to make sure that justice is done."

Reese thought of his two allies in the police.

Detective Jocelyn Carter. A decorated veteran who became one of the best cops in the Homicide Task Force. Strong. Principled. She actually started as an enemy. Hunting down the Man In A Suit. She came up with the name, actually. It took some time, but she realized, like Castle said, that the law needed a nudge sometimes.

Detective Lionel Fusco. Gruff, older, jaded and formerly dirty cop. Reese turned him around. Fusco was not a bad man. He took bribes to take better care of his son. And his heart was never in it. And he's proven his guts and smarts countless times since.

Two very different people. Both essential allies to Reese and Finch.

Considering who Reese was with this time, it would be best not to involve them just this once. Not directly, anyway.

"And if Vines is dirty? You'll have no problem with letting him live?" Reese said.

"I'll get over it. The people behind the sale of Cortex, though..."

"Yeah."

Reese thought of those pictures again. Those kids driven insane by the drug. He managed to keep his anger in check.

"We'll see," Reese said.

"Hm," Castle said.

"What?"

"Just like McCall," Castle said, "trying to change your ways."

"You think it's ridiculous?"

"No. I've seen your work. Nothing ridiculous about that. I disagree, that's all. Some people need to die."

"Why are you agreeing this time?"

"For one, you ran into a building filled with killers to save my ass."

"You're welcome."

"And, I have no problem with you. You do good work, Reese. You and Finch."

Finch overheard and said: "Thank him for me, Mr. Reese."

"Finch sends his thanks," Reese said.

Castle nodded once and went on: "I'm willing to respect your methods like I did for McCall. But, if you're working with me, you can't completely disagree with how I do things."

"Actually, remember, there is a threat on your life. So, I'm only here to make sure you don't come into any harm."

Castle looked at Reese. And said nothing. Reese smiled. Castle didn't, but his eyes lost some of their usual coldness. That would be the equivalent of a hysterical fit of laughter for him.

"Penthouse coming up, Mr. Reese," John heard in his earpiece.

"You have eyes inside the penthouse?" Reese asked.

"No cameras inside. An alarm system some might call advanced...deactivated, of course. One heat signature in the bedroom. No companion. No pets. The counselor is sleeping."

"Heat signature?" Reese said.

"I hacked a satellite when I realized there were no cameras in the penthouse," Finch said casually.

"Of course you did," Reese said as he holstered one Glock. Castle slung one of his Macs on a shoulder.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse. Reese and Castle, weapons leading, crept around soundlessly over to the bedroom. When they found the sleeping lawyer, Reese stood in the doorway. The Punisher stood over him. On Castle's signal, the light went on. Castle slapped him awake. A stiff backhand on the cheek.

"What! What the hell!" Vines said.

Vines eyes opened. Adjusted to the bright light. And then, he saw Castle.

"Oh, my God," Vines said.

Castle put his silenced Mac-10 in Vines' face.

"The Cortex drug," Castle asked.

"What?"

That earned Vines another slap. And another.

"Stop! Stop that, please," Vines pleaded, on the verge of tears.

"You hired a bunch of mercs to kill me earlier tonight. They failed."

Reese heard in his ear: "Mr. Reese, the counselor has some sort of electronic ledger in his computer files. He's been receiving hefty sums of money for several months from an individual called 'T.H.' I found no traces of these transactions in the counselor's banking records, so they were probably in cash."

Reese whispered, "All right."

"All right, yes, I hired the Black Daggers!" Vines shouted, "I work with the Cortex people, but I can't tell you who-"

Castle fired a silenced round into a pillow next to Vines' head. In the room, even a muffled gunshot sounded like thunder.

"No! Please!"

"You have one more chance," Castle said.

"Holloway! Thomas Holloway!" Vines shouted.

"'T.H.'" Reese said.

"Please," Vines said, "He said he'd hurt my family if-"

That earned Vines another slap.

"You have no family, scum. So nobody will miss you," Castle said, putting the muzzle on Vines' forehead.

"No!"

"Frank," Reese said, "Ease back a little."

Castle looked down at Vines and removed the gun from his face. And he stepped aside. Vines let out a breath of relief. Reese handed him a handkerchief.

"Here, Counselor," Reese said.

"T-Thanks," Vines said.

"Look. We understand you were probably under pressure to do what you did," Reese said, "Tell you what: you tell us what you can on this Holloway, we'll leave you alone."

Vines breathed. Collected his thoughts and spoke...

"Thanks, Counselor," Reese said.

"You...you won't kill me?" Vines said.

"No," Reese said, smiling. "Honest."

Reese pistol whipped Vines on the head and knocked him out. He then pulled out a syringe and stuck it in Vines' neck. A sedative. He should be out for hours.

Later, Reese and Castle were both in the van. No squad cars. No sirens. They were clear.

Finch was on speaker.

"It would seem that the counselor did not attempt to obfuscate us," Finch said.

"That means he didn't lie," Reese told Castle.

"I knew that," Castle said.

"Oh. Then you're pretty smart...for a Jarhead," Reese said.

Castle didn't smile. But his eyes had a fleeting trace of something like humor.

"Thomas Holloway," Finch went on, "38. Graduated high school same year as the counselor. Grade A student. Genius level IQ. Masters and PhDs in chemistry. Worked with several pharmaceutical companies. Some memos suggest he stole merchandise. He sued them for slandering. He won. 9.8 million dollars. A few arrests for possession. No convictions thanks to his former school mate. No work history for the past year. My guess would be that is when he started on his criminal enterprise."

"He would need facilities to cook the Cortex," Castle said.

"Check out his properties. A warehouse, a hangar, an old factory. Somewhere isolated where cops wouldn't go looking," Reese said.

"I'm tracking them down," Finch said, "I see cars, houses. Hm. It would seem that our chemist and the counselor have set up several dummy corporations. Possibly to launder money. I think I may have something. An abandoned rock quarry, outside of the city."

"Typical," Castle said.

"Considering the efforts invested to attempt to conceal this transaction, I would surmise that this is what you gentlemen might be looking for," Finch said, "Now, let's take a look at that location. There we go. Look at the screen on the phone."

It was night vision, Reese saw. Finch probably hacked another satellite. There was a large hangar like structure. There seemed to be sentries on the roof. Armed with assault rifles. Six. Others on foot, at ground level. Four men covering each side. Plus more in SUV trucks in roving patrols. Four trucks in all. Four men per truck.

"Anyway we can see inside there," Castle asked.

"Maybe if I can switch to infra red," Finch said.

The image switched to infra red. There were a lot of heat signatures inside. There was one large signature, too big to be person.

"What is that," Reese asked.

The image changed to X-Ray. They saw a dozen armed skeletons walking around inside. And a big machine with a conveyer belt several yards long.

"It's automated," Reese thought.

"Holloway knows that the temptation to steal might be too great," Castle said, "Since he probably did it himself."

"So he programs a machine with his formula," Reese said, "It also probably does the packaging as well. Then it's loaded in trucks."

"And sold to party goers in the city," Castle said.

"And according to the GPS on his phone, Holloway is on location," Finch said.

"Good work, Finch," Reese said.

"So...what's next?" Finch asked.

"We go there and we take them down," Castle said.

Reese looked at Castle. When he realized the Punisher wasn't joking, he said: "We're going to take a fortified site protected by fifty hardened killers."

"Yeah," Castle said. "All of the main objectives are at one place at the same time."

"I get it now," Reese said, "It wasn't the Daggers or Holloway threatening your life: it was you."

"I have to agree, Mr. Castle," Finch said from the phone, "I can certainly understand risking your life in a war or in a cause. But blindly leaping into a suicide mission...surely, there is a better way."

"There's the difference between us, Frank," Reese said, "We care about your life even if you don't."

Castle said nothing for a second. Two seconds. Then:

"These men, selling this poison," Castle said, "I can't tolerate their existence one other second. The law can't stop them, not when the people who should stop them are the ones sweeping the Cortex ODs under the rug. It's not just the Punisher being vengeful and wanting blood. It's not just some death wish: there is no other way to get them."

Castle paused. And went on:

"You guys are about saving lives," he said, "We destroy that lab, countless lives will be saved."

"We have a problem, then, Frank," Reese said.

"Not necessarily, gentlemen," Finch said, "I may have a solution that could very well be satisfactory for all involved."


	5. Chapter 5

**Brooklyn**

**Punisher's safe house**

**Sunrise **

Reese and Castle were watching television. There was a special news report.

"...the ATF, the FBI and Homeland Security joined forces for what seems to be a significant operation. For those who have joined us, disgraced chemist Thomas Holloway and fifty heavily armed men were arrested today on several charges. The various agencies present refuse to comment. Was this some sort of homegrown terrorist threat? We will keep you informed as we get more details..."

"I gotta hand it to you, Finch," Castle said, "Setting up Holloway as some kind of terrorist mastermind, that was good work."

"That was very well played, Harold," Reese said. "You never cease to impress me."

"Thank you very much, gentlemen," Finch said. His voice came from the cell phone which was on speakerphone. "I had to rush it. The schematics to several explosive devices, the formulas to poisonous substances, plans to poison the city's water supplies. The money transfers from Mr Holloway to Mr. Vines to the Black Daggers. Some money transfers from different bank accounts linked to terror groups. All planted in Mr. Holloway's computer. And his cell phone. All that and tips sent to the various law enforcement agencies..."

"The manufacturing and sale of Cortex should be over," Reese said.

"Holloway and Vines should be out of circulation away for a while," Finch said.

"Which should put an end to _this_ threat on your life, anyway," Reese said.

"Yeah," Castle said.

There was a silence.

"Thanks," Castle said. "You guys made nailing those bastards easier."

"You made this an interesting night, Frank," Reese said.

Castle said nothing.

"What're you gonna do?" Reese asked.

"Rest. Sloppy soldiers make mistakes. The wrong people might get hurt. That's unacceptable to me. Then, see who's next on my list. You?"

"Honestly," Reese said, "It's gonna be something like that for me too."

Castle extended his hand.

"You're pretty good," Castle said, "For an Army wimp."

Reese shook Castle's hand. And smiled.

"You're okay for a jarhead," Reese said.

"Take care of yourself, Reese," Castle said, "The city needs the Man In A Suit."

"Take care, Frank," Reese said.

He handed Castle a card with a phone number.

"That is if you need us," Reese said.

Castle nodded. Reese nodded back and left.

**Outside**

**In the car**

"That was a...busy night," Reese heard in his earpiece.

"Yeah," Reese said, "I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"I doubt the numbers will allow for such extensive rest, Mr. Reese."

"I thought you'd say that."

Reese started the car and started driving away. He then said:

"Think we'll him meet again?"

"New York is a big city," Finch said, "But, who knows? It's very possible. I mean you two are...colleagues of sorts. It could happen."

There was a silence.

"You know, you're alike in many ways, you and Mr. Castle," Finch said, "But different in one."

"How's that?"

"You cherish life."

"I don't know, Finch. Frank's war is bloody, but he saves lives in his own way."

"I meant _your_ life, John," Finch said.

"Well," Reese said, "You went through so much trouble to save it from the gutter. Must be worth something, right?"

"It is indeed, John. It is indeed," Finch said.

All life was worth something. Reese was learning that, thanks in part to Finch. That lesson couldn't redeem Reese, couldn't absolve him for everything he did in the past, but it was something.

"A new number, Mr. Reese," Finch said.

"On my way," Reese said.

**THE END**


End file.
